Learning to Love a 'Good' Storm

My husband and I are very different. In many ways. One example is that I love rain; he loves storms. And while it may seem that I'm just parsing words, there's a big difference in what we love when it comes to wetness emerging from the sky. When I think of rain, the following resonates:

   I hear leaves drinking rain;
   I hear rich leaves on top
   Giving the poor beneath
   Drop after drop;
   'Tis a sweet noise to hear
   These green leaves drinking near.

   And when the Sun comes out,
   After this Rain shall stop,
   A wondrous Light will fill
   Each dark, round drop;
   I hope the Sun shines bright;
   'Twill be a lovely sight.
             - The Rain by William Henry Davies

I love what is soothing about rain. What it does to the earth. The good that comes from it - both in my spirit and in the world around me. But as much as I love rain (albeit on a limited basis), I grew up never really wanting to experience a storm. To me, a storm brings fear, it brings the loss of things we love (like power and cable and trees and roofs), and it means we should hunker down and hope for the best. So, I came into our marriage with a NOAA weather radio - programmed to notify me of potential storms in my county, and the counties where my immediate family members resided. I wanted to be prepared for the storm, and able to notify my family that they should be prepared for what was coming as well. I'm not sure I ever thought about enjoying a storm. Until I met Colman.

Colman is an artist at heart. And specifically, he's a photographer by trade. So, he's drawn to light, to the majestic of any kind, and to the things that convey power through the senses. So, lighting brings brilliance and thunder brings awareness. About storms, Colman says, "There's just nothing else like it." He likes how powerful a storm is. And he's not afraid of it. He loves its beauty. And he's not intimidated by it. And I have learned to love his love for storms. I don't have my own love for storms, at least not the way I love rain or the way he loves storms. But I love what a storm does to my husband. What it brings out in him.

Recently, we were talking with friends about how much Colman loves a good storm. And he said to me, during this conversation, that I'd gotten to where I love storms too; he was trying to get me to admit that I'd come around to his way of thinking. But I said, "No. I just really like you." And it's true; I now approach the storms with him. But I'm drawn to him, and he's drawn to storms. So, if I want to be near my husband during a storm, I'm going to find myself on the front porch instead of in the tub. And I'm learning to appreciate the storms in my own way. But I hope I never get over how much I really like my husband. And how I like seeing the world through his eyes (as much as I can). And how he brings something to my life that I would never cultivate on my own. Such as a love for storms. Something I can hardly explain.

Proud Music of The Storm by Walt Whitman

PROUD music of the storm!
Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies!
Strong hum of forest tree-tops! Wind of the mountains!
Personified dim shapes! you hidden orchestras!
You serenades of phantoms, with instruments alert,
Blending, with Nature’s rhythmus, all the tongues of nations;
You chords left us by vast composers! you choruses!
You formless, free, religious dances! you from the Orient!
You undertone of rivers, roar of pouring cataracts;
You sounds from distant guns, with galloping cavalry!
Echoes of camps, with all the different bugle-calls!
Trooping tumultuous, filling the midnight late, bending me powerless,
Entering my lonesome slumber-chamber—Why have you seiz’d me?